'What are they?' asked Sponge. 'The Hanby,' replied Mr. Puffington. 'Oh! then you are Mr. Puffington,' observed Sponge, who had a sort of general acquaintance with all the hounds and masters--indeed, with all the meets of all the hounds in the kingdom--which he read in the weekly lists in _Bell's Life_, just as he read _Mogg's Cab Fares_. 'Then you are Mr. Puffington?' observed Sponge. 'The same,' replied the stranger. 'I'll have a look at you,' observed Sponge, adding, 'do you take in horses?' 'Yours, of course,' replied Mr. Puffington, bowing; adding something about great public characters, which Sponge didn't understand. 'I'll be down upon you, as the extinguisher said to the rushlight,' observed Mr. Sponge. 'Do,' said Mr. Puffington; 'come before the frost. Where are you staying now?' 'I'm at Jawleyford's,' replied our friend. 'Indeed!--Jawleyford's, are you?' repeated Mr. Puffington. 'Good fellow, Jawleyford--gentleman, Jawleyford. How long do you stay?' 'Why, I haven't made up my mind,' replied Sponge. 'Have no thoughts of budging at present.' 'Ah, well--good quarters,' said Mr. Puffington, who now smelt a rat; 'good quarters--nice girls--fine fortune--fine place, Jawleyford Court. Well, book me for the next visit,' added he. 'I will,' said Sponge, 'and no mistake. What do they call your shop?' 'Hanby House,' replied Mr. Puffington; 'Hanby House--anybody can tell you where Hanby House is.' 'I'll not forget,' said Mr. Sponge, booking it in his mind, and eyeing his victim. 'I'll show you a fine pack of hounds,' said Mr. Puffington; 'far finer animals than those of old Scamperdale's--steady, true hunting hounds, that won't go a yard without a scent--none of your jealous, flashy, frantic devils, that will tear over half a township without one, and are always looking out for "halloas" and assistance--' Mr. Puffington was interrupted in the comparison he was about to draw between his lordship's hounds and his, by arriving at the Bolsover brick-fields, and seeing Jack and Blossomnose, horse in hand, running to and fro, while sundry countrymen blobbed about in the clay-hole they had so recently occupied. Tom Washball, Mr. Wake, Mr. Fyle, Mr. Fossick, and several dark-coated horsemen and boys were congregated around. Jack had lost his spectacles, and Blossomnose his whip, and the countrymen were diving for them. 'Not hurt, I hope?' said Mr. Puffington, in the most dandified tone of indifference, as he rode up to where Jack and Blossomnose were churning the water in their boots, stamping up and down, trying to get themselves warm. 'Hurt be hanged!' replied Jack, who had a frightful squint, that turned his eyes inside out when he was in a passion: 'hurt be hanged!' said he; 'might have been drownded, for anything you'd have cared.' 'I should have been sorry for that,' replied Mr. Puffington, adding, 'the Flat Hat Hunt could ill afford to lose so useful and ornamental a member.'